


A Light In The Dark

by feministbatman



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Friendship, Identity Reveal, bruce is a dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 12:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7639579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feministbatman/pseuds/feministbatman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harper Row is invited to a fundraising gala at Wayne Manor and, despite her reluctance to know who is under the cowl, accidentally discovers Batman’s secret identity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Light In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I don’t usually write fiction but I started this a year ago just to do something creative, added to it here and there, and decided to actually finish it around a month ago. It’s set before Batman and Robin Eternal, and there are specific references to Batman 12 and Batman 18. Shout out to my sister and @stardustkr7 for being my betas and to @goodluckdetective for the writing tips and inspiration behind the story.

 “Miss Row, we’ve arrived.”

“Wha- oh _fuck_.”

Harper bolted upright at the sudden interruption of her nap, banging her head against the stretch limousine’s shelves of complimentary beverages in the process.

“We’ve arrived at Wayne Manor, Miss! For the fundraiser,” the driver said more urgently, eyeing the line of vehicles trailing behind them.

“Gimme a sec,” Harper grumbled, eyes watering. She ran her fingers through her undercut, straightened the skirt of her dress, and swore loudly for the second time since waking up.

Ugly grey streaks covered her legs. The dress she wore- the same one she had worn at the last Wayne gala, except now dyed black by her overenthusiastic brother and roommate- was bleeding colour down her thighs.

“Hold up on giving me a sec, gimme a minute instead,” she called to the front, grabbing a water bottle and fistfull of napkins to furiously scrub at her skin, inky droplets spilling onto the leather car seat.

Harper never wanted to go to the Wayne Gala. Not the first one, which she only begrudgingly attended at the insistence of her brother, and not this second one, which she had initially thought she had a better chance of talking her way out of.

“It’s just gonna be a bunch of old people patting each other on the back for helping out the underdogs,” Harper had insisted to Cullen over breakfast. “I’m not gonna be put on display like some zoo animal when Wayne already built our new complex. It’s degrading. And redundant. We can send a thank you card instead. Or maybe you can just send it. I could give it to Tim for you...”

It was easy enough to get Cullen to blush and mumble something about getting a pen. Any problem that the Gala posed melted away upon dropping him off at school, and Harper started her work day fueled by the smug satisfaction that she would never have to step inside Wayne Manor ever again.

What Harper _hadn’t_ anticipated in her plan to avoid the party was how adamant Stephanie would be that she attend.

Harper was sure that Steph had genuinely meant every word in her impassioned speeches about the Narrows needing her as a representative that showcased the best Gotham had to offer, and how it was Harper’s duty to help others who were in need of the funds Wayne and his inner circle could provide. She was _also_ sure that Stephanie giving her a makeover was an additional motivating factor in convincing her to go.

Regardless of the reasons, fighting her brother _and_ her best friend on the matter wasn’t really an option. Stephanie swore on her life to skip patrol and watch over Cullen before shoving Harper into the limo, and off to the party she went.

“Please Ms. Row, the _Mayor_ is behind us and we’re keeping him waiti-” Both Harper and the driver flinched at the angry car horn that blared behind them, and Harper dropped her water, spilling it all over the floor of the limousine.

“Uhhhhh... _Sorrygottagobye_!”

Harper snatched her shoes from the puddle and dove out of the limo, which had begun driving off before the door was even shut. She sighed, sitting down on the curb to adjust the blue gel pads she had grabbed from her work boots and stuffed into the heels that Stephanie insisted she wear. The Mayor stepped out of his own car and stared for a moment before turning towards the mansion.

Harper flipped him the bird before getting up.

She stupidly opted to take a shortcut and hobbled through the grass, sinking into the mud with every step until she made it to a walkway. The trees leading up to the main entrance were strung in fairy lights that reflected in the water of two… three… four marble fountains sprinkled across the yard. The manor itself was brightly lit, every window swung wide open to let the cool breeze inside.

Cullen would have loved it and, with the exception of there being nothing to grapple on, Harper begrudgingly admitted to herself that the green, open space was refreshing when compared to the city.

Any fondness for Wayne’s garden faded immediately upon approaching the entryway. The doorman didn’t even speak to Harper when she handed him the invitation, choosing instead to glare at the dirt on her shoes and growl. Harper kicked a potted plant until her heels were somewhat clean and gave him a cheeky thumbs up before heading inside.

Wayne Manor was just as she remembered. Stained glass that glowed from the light of the moon adorned the windows of the hall. The ceilings were lined with what Harper had been bewildered to learn was real gold foil. The floors didn’t creak. The lights were bright and warm, never flickering, never giving off a dim, eerie glow. Iron bars didn’t cover the windows as a preventative measure against burglary.

A year ago Harper had described the ballroom to Cullen as “Nothing you haven’t seen before in the movies, sort of like in The Sound of Music, rich-guy bachelor and his seven-something kids included.” It would seem that nothing had changed save for the larger number of guests in attendance. Patrons who contributed the the Narrows Project after the initial fundraiser joined the celebration, as well as several well-known Gothamite families who lived off of inheritances and old family money that Wayne must have been courting for donations. The crowd was louder than last time: more laughter, more shouts, and more glasses clinking together as people toasted to their own success.

Harper felt a migraine coming on and grumbled to herself as she crossed over to the refreshment table, staring at the floor as she pushed through the crowd, chin tucked so close to her shoulder she could smell her own sweat. She grabbed a glass of lemonade and chugged it down so quickly that ice cubes fell from the cup and onto the ballroom floor. She frowned and looked from side to side before stealthily crouching down to flick them under the table before they could melt.

“Harper?”  
  
Harper’s heel slipped in the water in her haste to get up and she fell backwards, landing on the wood floor with a pained groan. Two arms slid underneath hers and pulled her up before anyone else could notice, but as far as Harper was concerned the real damage has already been done. After a few seconds of stewing in her own humiliation Harper slowly rotated on her heels and spoke up.

“Tim,” she muttered. “Just… _shutupokay_?” 

A hostile demeanor had never been something Harper needed to work particularly hard to maintain, but in that moment it was very difficult to act prickly towards her partner-in-anti-crime. Tim Drake, dressed to the nines, was grinning from ear to ear, and not in the teasing manner she had anticipated. He opened his mouth to speak but Harper interrupted him with a shake of her head and a second warning. “Don’t. Say. Anything.”

“Not even to tell you that you look really prett- Noooottt that I was going to,” he backtracked, raising his hands halfway in the air to meet the level of his sheepish smile as Harper’s head snapped upwards. “Just wanted to be clear on your conditions.”

“That’s even worse than what I was expecting,” Harper complained. “Are you still talking because you _weren’t_ aware that I’ll very happily punch you? Or ‘cause you like the adrenaline knowing I will?”

Tim laughed and Harper cracked a small smile despite herself. She hadn’t expected to see Tim at the gala anymore than she expected him to get more than four hours of sleep at a time. If she had a nickel to spare she would bet it on the Red Robin suit being tucked neatly under his tuxedo, ready to abandon the event and hit the streets at a moment’s notice, just like she would love to do...

“Harper... Hey Harper. You okay?”

Harper’s attention snapped back to Tim. “I’m... fine. Why?”

“Well, because you’re, you know. Here?”

Harper crossed her arms with a huff, grinding her teeth before answering. “Steph and Cullen made me come to this thing. I was at the first shindig for this whole Narrows reconstruction project- _don’t you look so surprised_ \- so I got the invite for round two. I was gonna shred it, but…”

Harper scrunched up her nose. Luckily Tim was a halfway decent detective and didn’t need her to fill in the blanks.

“If it helps, I don’t think I would have been able to overpower the combined forces of Stephanie and your brother either, **”** Tim admitted **.** “Really, Stephanie on her own would be enough. Have you noticed how she can be kind of scary?”

“I found that out the first time I tried to hide her chore wheel.”

Tim raised his brows. “The _first_ time?”

“If I wanted to be judged by my friends I would have sat in my apartment while Steph and Cullen glared at me all night,” Harper said cooly. “But I’m not. I’m here representing the Narrows, or something. Apparently it’s a real big honor to be-”

“The event’s honorary fish out of water,” Tim finished for her, looking infuriatingly sympathetic. “Are you nervous?”

“I was going to say ‘token poor kid.’ And no, I feel stupid. Not to mention that this place gives me the creeps,” Harper admitted, unfolding her arms to shake out her hands. “And I live in the Narrows, which is creepy on the reg.”

“Creepy? Care to elaborate?”

“I dunno. This is the top one percent of Gotham, right? It’s kind of creepy to see all the old rich people who run everyone else’s lives standing around in one room. **”** Harper waved a hand around the ballroom to illustrate her point before continuing. “And the garbage they eat, _holy shit_. I saw someone offer up cow tongue on a plate. Check out that guy over there,” she added, lowering her voice and jerking her head in the direction of an approaching server.

Harper and Tim tilted their heads in unison as they attempted to covertly discern what was on the tray. Tim managed to look appropriately disinterested; Harper made absolutely no attempt to hide her misgivings. “It looks like snails.”

“Snails?”

“I mean, not literally, that would be- Oh fucking hell, it _is_ snails **!”** she hissed **,** turning away from the server. She wilted against Tim’s back until he had the chance to very politely declined the man’s offerings of escargot. Her stomach was still churning when he patted her arm to signal the all clear.

“Tim… _Why?_ They…  They’re... _Bugs_.”

“ _Molluscs_ , actually,” Tim said helpfully.

“I hope it was worth the tuition to go to a school where you learned that very specific fact, fuck off,” Harper snapped, moving to Tim’s side to lean against his shoulder. “I can’t believe these people actually need a self congratulatory wingding so they can pat each other on the back for donating some cash. What _else_ were they going to do with their extra _millions of dollars_ ? Buy a third summer home? _Eat snails_?" 

Harper knew that Tim understood where she was coming from, so she chose not to punch him while he struggled to hide his amusement with her rant, biting down on the corner of his lip and offering a lazy shrug. “Alfred organizes the best events, I guess? Really though, it’s not that bad for us. For the most part everyone just ignores the teenagers. Especially after the speeches.”

“Tim,” Harper muttered, dropping her gaze the floor and scraping the edge of her heel against the wood. “Usually I’d love to tell you you’re wrong. But in this case…”

Harper jerked her head to the left, Tim’s eyes following until his gaze landed on a group of party goers who were making no efforts to conceal their gawking. A lull in the orchestra allowed the two to hear some of their more scathing commentary.

_“Blue hair, honestly, I know he chose the person who would garner the most sympathy donations but still..._

_“I do think Bruce used to have better taste in the charity cases he associated with…”_

_“Let’s just hope his ward’s good influence rubs off on her and not the other way around...”_

Had it been any other night Harper would have been able to attribute the burning red in her cheeks to pure rage, but while she was most definitely angry, she felt a growing sense of humiliation over a loss as to what to do about it. Harper might not have been one of the many CEOs or investors rambling about stocks on the dance floor, but she was smart enough to know even though she was game to throw some trademark Bluebird at them, the event was an incentive for the continuation of the Narrows projects, which she couldn't put to risk. That being said, acting as the model for how Gotham’s elite had metamorphosed the lives of their lesser neighbors with cash contributions was hardly her bed of roses.

As _great_ as it would be to cut the puppet strings and give the gossipers a piece of her mind, Harper stood there and said nothing, ears burning, silent and stupid right next to Tim Drake, the first vigilante in the city whose respect she had fought for and won, who-

Who _knew_ what it felt like. That much became clear when Harper lifted her gaze with the intention of meeting Tim’s, stopping at the fist he had clenched by his side.

He was an insufferable, secretive, pushy little know-it-all, but moments like this were what reminded Harper that Tim Drake was one of the greatest friends someone could possibly have. She had never seen Tim look more angry in her life. Not when he had discovered her as a stowaway on his plane as Red Robin, and not when they had argued time and time again about whether or not she should be going out in the field in her early weeks of training. There was no way he wasn’t playing it up for show, acting the part of the entitled young ward and glaring at the party goers in a way that sent them the very clear message of “Shut up right now or my father will hear about this,” but Harper was still deeply impressed that Tim had the guts to make the silent threat to begin with.

“C’mon,” he said, having the good sense to tap her arm several times so as not to startle her before tugging at her wrist for her to follow him. Harper swatted him away with a smack on the back of his hand before following.

“You hit like Cobblepot,” Tim said bluntly as he pushed their way through the crowd.

Harper crinkled her nose. “ _The_ _Penguin_? Screw you, Drake.”

“No, it’s fine, you’re just hyper dependant on your weapons, but it can be fixed…” He quieted, eyes shifting from either side before pulling her close to mutter in her ear. “Something tells me Gotham might be without a few key protectors tonight. It wouldn’t hurt to go on a last minute patrol.”

Harper’s heart lept. Any resistance in response to Tim’s bossiness melted away, and she grabbed his arm and squeezed as if to double check to make sure her savior was real.

“Tim. Timmmm! Timmy Tim Tim. Those words are music to my ears. Let’s make a pit stop to taze those assholes who were _clearly_ jealous of my hair. OR we could fight that group at the bar. OR-”

Tim looked over his shoulder and frowned. “Wait, wait. Did they do something to you too?" 

“Well ya’see, it’s more like this party _sucks,_ and they look like they’re having too good of a time.”

“Ahh. As _appealing_ as that may be,” Tim lectured in mock disapproval, “you signed up for the bat bracket of vigilante-ing, which is pretty _specific_ to hero stuff. You’ve made your bed.”

“Nest. I made my _nest_. You get it, right?” Harper waggled her eyebrows.

“You know, the first two Robins were big on puns and jokes on the job, but I’d like to think I grew out of them.”

“And the Robin right now?”

“He’s still developing a rudimentary sense of humor. It will be a while before it actually gets any good. Exit’s right there, come on-”

Harper placed both hands on the small of Tim’s back, plowing him through the crowd and towards a plain door between the banquet tables and the lip of the stage, much to his and the attendees’ disgruntlement. She didn’t give a damn. She was in a good mood for the first time in days, free to spend an entire night patrolling her city after weeks of late shifts and overtime. She pushed Tim forward on her tip toes to avoid stepping on the tottering heels of her shoes, getting closer to freedom with every passing second-

“Going somewhere, Master Timothy?”

It took every last bit of self-restraint for Harper not throw back her head and let out a groan at whoever had the audacity to interrupt their party hit-and-run. She turned on the ball of her foot with every intention of asking “What’s it to you?” but immediately lost her balance and stumbled towards the voice instead. When she regained her stability she was surprised to look up and find a familiar face.

“Hey! It’s the Brownie Butler!”

Tim’s forehead crinkled in confusion at the epithet, but the butler absolutely glowed with pride. 

“Ms. Row, a pleasure to see you again. I’m glad to see you’ve been acquainted with some good company this evening.”

“Harper,” Tim cut in, “This is Alfred Pennyworth. Officially the Wayne butler, unofficially my extended family.”

“Now, Master Timothy, if Ms. Row were ever in the position in which I was cleaning _her_ messes and doing _her_ laundry, she could formally refer to me by name. But as of now, I quite like the sobriquet she’s chosen to bestow upon me. If you’d like, the dessert table is just this way…”

To Harper’s relief he walked them to the plates and trays closest to their prior destination. Tim picked up a cookie and took a noncommittal bite. Harper rounded the table to reach the other side of a towering pastry stand and piled three brownie squares into a napkin, taking the time to pick out the edge pieces. When she returned Tim and Alfred were speaking quietly. 

Harper swiped the cookie out of Tim’s hand and took a bite. “So, _Master_ Tim- _oh my god this is delicious_ \- you, uh, ready to go?” she asked, crumbs falling down her chin.

Alfred gave a small smile at the compliment, but his eyes were apologetic. Harper turned to Tim, who winced at her enthusiasm.

“Tim. No. Don’t do this to me.”

“I have to stay for Bruce’s speech. And he wants to introduce me to some people afterwards-”

 “You couldn’t have checked before you, you, you know,” she sputtered, trying to avoid specifics in front of Alfred. “Said the thing?” 

“We can still talk! Just, stay here and hang out. I’ll make it up to you, okay? Show you the breaker boxes for the manor, something you’d like.” 

“You- That’s not _fun_! That’s-”

 “Gotta go!”

The stage was only 20 feet away and Harper could have easily caught up to him and dragged him towards the door, even in heels, but Alfred’s presence prevented her from doing so. She chose to take a large bite of her brownie and grumble to herself instead.

“I do apologize for Master Timothy’s busy schedule, Ms. Row,” Alfred said soothingly. “Forgive me, but you didn’t seem all too enthralled to be in attendance for the last Wayne gala either. Would it be too bold of me to assume that my culinary expertise is what brought you back? Or perhaps it was your date for the evening?”

Harper nearly coughed up a chunk of the brownie she was inhaling. “Wha- What? TIM? He’s like my brothe- no, I mean, my brother likes hi- I wasn’t saying Tim is like my brother, ‘cause I’m from the Narrows, I _definitely_ barely even know him, and…” Alfred raised a single brow. Harper stopped her stammering to sigh, squeezing her eyes shut as she ran a hand through her undercut. “Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t explain it without being rude. Dating Tim would be super gross.”

“Ms Row, so long as you aren’t saying such things about the banquet I’ve prepared this evening, you’re absolutely fine,” Alfred said warmly, earning a half-smile from Harper. “Now, the speeches are about to begin soon. Perhaps, as one of our guests of honor for the evening, you’d like to move closer-”

“Actually, I’m just gonna hide behind these cake stand things. Or crawl under the table.”

“Please be sure to check under the tablecloths before you do. Master Damian has quite the eclectic collection of pets, and it would be _quite_ a disruption if you were to startle the cow.”

Harper offered a thumbs up, narrowing her eyes as he strode off towards the podium.

“Cow… fucking rich people…”

Suddenly the party was intolerably boring again. Harper was equally annoyed with Tim for going back on his escape plan and for leaving her without the safety that being a Wayne ward provided. When a couple of old women began to point and whisper she gave up on being polite, grabbed a cupcake, and licked the frosting off in one swipe. Her eyeroll following their gasps led her gaze to the stage, and she noticed that Tim had been joined by his younger brother.

Who was it again? Damon? No… Damian, yes, the one Alfred had just mentioned. Harper only recognized him because of Cullen’s obsession with the celebrity family and their frequent additions. She had never understood it, but to be fair, there was certainly enough drama surrounding the Waynes to be entertained on a day to day basis.

Not always entertainment, though, she reminded herself. Tim’s older brother, Dick Grayson. Nightwing. Unmasked and killed in front of the whole world. She wondered how Tim had become Red Robin. If Dick had sought him out to join his crusade, or if Tim had discovered his secret identity and insisted on joining. She wondered if Damian followed in their footsteps. If he-

… If he…

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit….

Harper’s brain short circuited and she leaned into the dessert table, her legs barely supporting her own weight. She had never experienced emotional whiplash quite like this before, boredom turning to horror with one rapid punch to the gut. 

If only she had been looking away from the stage she might have been able to squash her thoughts before any suspicions began to form. She had worked with Robin before. A strip of fabric over the eyes could only do so much to hide someone’s identity up close, which is why Harper usually did all she could do to avoid dwelling on the subject matter. But she was looking at him, _right now_ , standing next to Red Robin out of costume, and the obviousness of it all overpowered her reluctance to know who was under the mask.

Damian’s face. His hair. His skin tone. His scowl as he looked Tim up and down with disdain and usurped his position to get closer to the podium.

She didn’t want this. She didn’t _want_ to know. She wanted to run. She wanted to somehow scratch the goosebumps off her arms. She wanted to regain the ability to take reasonably measured breaths, but she couldn’t, because Dick Grayson was Nightwing, Tim Drake was Red Robin, _Damian Wayne was Robin_...

And Bruce Wayne…

The lights in the ballroom dimmed and Harper’s hoarse “ _What the fuck?_ ” was muffled by the crowd’s “Oohs” and “Ahhs” as they directed their attention to the stage. 

It would seem that the production budget for this year’s speeches had increased compared to the last fundraiser. The Hologram of the city was back, bright, orange, and twice as large. Dramatic music played in the background and the skyline adjusted to demonstrate the work accomplished in the last year, recent additions lit in blue. The key changed and new buildings began to appear in a luminous yellow, showcasing hopeful improvements.

When Bruce Wayne took to the stage the main ballroom lights still hadn’t adjusted, and as he approached the podium only his lower jaw was illuminated in the darkness. 

Harper squeezed her eyes shut. The roar of the crowd was drowned out by the buzz in her ears, but the eerie ghost of a cowl on Bruce Wayne’s face remained in the forefront of her mind. 

This was absolutely _insane_ . The jumps in logic she was making, the tiny bits of evidence she had unwillingly scrounged up. It was the truth, she _knew_ it was the truth, but Harper was still terrified for her sanity. Even now she could practically hear the voices of Batgirl and Red Hood in her head.

“Don’t, Jason. Alfred would be so upset…”

“Barbie, if I promise not to, will you save a dance for me?”

“You could have just asked!”

“Oh? So I can throw food at Tim’s head and still- JESUS Barbara, hey Hot Topic, lend me a hand, Swan Lake is killing me over here...

Harper had to blink several times before the two people in front of her came into focus. Barbara Gordon, the GCPD Commissioner’s daughter, was very efficiently dragging a boy twice her size away from the dessert table with his hand twisted tightly around his back. Barbara caught Harper’s gaze mid eyeroll. “Jason, you can be such a pri- Oh. Excuse me, are you okay?”

Jason cursed quietly to himself, taking advantage of Barbara’s diverted attention to wrangle his arm out of her slackened grip. “S’okay. Hurts but I’ll be good for one song…oh.” He met Harper’s glare with a lopsided smile, scanning her up and down with a what almost seemed like a mischievous glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “Yeah kid, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Harper muttered, trying to minimize conversation as if she could somehow bleach the voices she recognized from her memory. This only seemed to prompt more concern from Barbara, who took a careful step forward. Jason stood behind her, failing to hold back a smile, as if he found Harper’s irritability to be very amusing.

Barbara placed a tentative hand on Harper’s shoulder. “If you need anything the butler here can-”

“ _Get the hell off me._ ”

Harper jerked away from Barbara, hitting the edge of the table with her wrist. Her voice was uncharacteristically shrill; it rang out with the rattling trays she had knocked into, spurring a few disgruntled murmurs from the nearby audience. Barbara wasn’t startled by Harper’s outburst, but her expression became wary and she slowly pulled in her hand. Jason had certainly stopped smiling; his jaw was set, brows furrowed.

Harper and Barbara stared at each other for a few moments and, despite herself, Harper could have sworn that a moment of understanding passed between the two of them. She couldn’t bear to look at her or Jason any longer and turned away only to meet Tim’s gaze, his mouth slightly parted in confusion as to what was going on. His brows knitted in worry, over Harper’s current state or over the fact that she was very likely interacting with Batgirl and the Red Hood out of costume, she couldn’t tell.

“I have to go,” she muttered, pushing past Barbara and Jason, barely able to hear the last few bits of their conversation over the clicking of her ridiculous heels and the boom of the microphone.

“...Are you going to blame this on me?”

“No, Jason…”

Harper picked up her gait, not confident enough to sprint in her shoes but desperate to get out of the stupid ballroom. She pushed her way through the doors Tim had initially pointed her to and moved down the hallway, looking from side to side for an exit. She finally settled for opening a random door, shutting it behind her with every intention of holing herself up until she could calm down enough to find her way back and leave the same way she came.

The room was some type of study. Huge bookshelves lined most of the walls, and portraits and paintings adorned any empty spaces. A few antiques were on display here and there, awards, statues, an old grandfather clock standing by itself. A couple of armchairs and a lounge were gathered around a coffee table in the corner and Harper sat down, unsure of what to do.

What would her mothe- No, she couldn’t think about that right now. What would Cullen do? He would go to Harper and talk about it, which wasn't exactly helpful in this situation...

Stephanie. Stephanie, the daughter of a nurse, what would she do? Harper thought back to their patrols together, Steph working with panicked victims.

Harper put her head in between her knees, closed her eyes, and focused on taking deep breaths.

Inhale.

Her eyes wandered to the clock to check the time, but it was broken. It would seem that didn’t matter to rich people like Wayne if their antiques worked, as long as they looked expensive.

Exhale.

She wondered if Tim would try to find her. She hoped he wouldn’t.

Inhale.

Actually she hoped he would, at least, in a few hours. It would be nice to yell at someone who she knew wouldn’t leave her in the long run. And the stupid house was huge. She could die in this very room from starvation or dehydration or circulatory shock… 

Inhale

Harper buckled forward and held her breath, nails digging into the velvet couch cushion while she choked on her anger.  She slowly dragged her feet to the edge of the couch, hugging herself tight against her knees.

She was _furious_ at Wayne, furious that she had gone to the stupid party. She was _so angry_ that she had taken so long to realize the truth and even angrier that she had solved the riddle of his identity at all. She was angry that she _felt_ angry without knowing if she even was right about any of this...

Of course she was. Harper was well aware that she had always had the puzzle pieces, but she never intended on actually putting them together. Now that they seemed to have arranged themselves on their own accord, she found it impossible to avoid looking at the picture they formed.

Bruce Wayne was-

In the room. A sliver of light coming from the door caught Harper’s attention. Mr. Wayne slid through the crack and gently closed the door behind him, the distant rumble of the party disappearing with a quiet creak.

At first he didn’t notice Harper, who was hugging her knees tightly to her chest and putting all of her energy into becoming invisible. He fidgeted with his tie in one hand as he strode towards the old clock, and for a moment he seemed to be reaching out for it. The moment he paused was the same moment Harper knew she had been caught, and she would have flushed with chagrin had the blood not already drained from her cheeks.

It took Bruce a moment to identify Harper. The room was too dark to immediately notice the colour of her hair, and her chin was tucked behind her knees so that the only distinctive visual cue he had to work with was her venomous glare, one she had perfected so much over the years of living with her father that it had become distinctive enough to pinpoint. Harper saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes even before he had reached over the turn on a nearby lamp, and he feigned a few seconds of confusion by tilting his head, as if he weren’t the world’s greatest detective.

“Ms. Row?”

Harper dropped her feet from the couch to the floor.

“...Mister Wayne.”

Harper expected a few moments of awkward silence to collect herself, or better yet, a fleet of security guards to appear and drag her out of the venue. She was disappointed when neither were the case.

“Are you lost?” Bruce asked lightly, as if there was nothing strange about finding a random stray from the Narrows curled up on the corner of his couch. “I’d find myself walking around the halls with no clue where I was half the time if it weren’t for Alfred. I think I could manage to point you in the right direction, though.”

If Harper had any inclination to walk out the door and leave this battle for another day it disappeared when Bruce spoke so easily about his big comfy manor, adjusting a tie that likely cost the same amount as her electric bill.

Bruce Wayne had hired help so that he could drag low life criminals to the police station and wake up in time for breakfast in bed. Bruce Wayne bought supermodels fruity drinks while the paparazzi snapped photos and featured him in gossip rags so that he could have a believable alter ego. Bruce Wayne had all the means to run the most seamless long term covert operation from Coast City to Ivy Town, but he hadn’t done a _goddamn thing_ to protect a seventeen year old girl with blue hair from a secret she didn’t want any part of.

Harper stood up. “Why did you invite me to come to this party?”

“You’re one of our guests of hono-”

“No, no. I get that there were reasons to invite me, okay? I want to know why you invited me when you also had every reason _not_ to.”

Bruce might as well have been mocking her with the baffled expression he so carefully wore, and Harper picked up steam.

“What were you thinking? That I was stupid? That I wouldn’t figure it out with everything right in front of me? Thought you could convince me that I was bullshitting myself if I told you that _I know_?”

“Ms. Row-”

“Because I know, okay? _I know!_ How could I _not?!_ You basically dragged me into a trap!”

“I don’t-" 

“I guess I sort of thought if I didn’t actually _put_ any effort into finding out, I _wouldn’t_ find out. Usually this detective garbage is a lot harder to do, but hey, _you should know!_ ”

“Harper.”

“ _Why was I invited?!!_ ”

“ _Harper_.”

He said her name like a warning, a tone she had heard countless times before. Harper squeezed the bridge of her nose, mentally preparing herself for whatever stupid lecture she was about to be given. Bruce didn’t disappoint, towering over her, arms crossed.

“You were invited here to celebrate the completion of phase one of the Narrows projects. You were free to ignore the invitation if you didn’t want to attend. You’re free to call the chauffeur at any time and leave if that’s what you want. I don’t have any idea about what you’re talking about, but I’ve heard enough.”

The speech, short as it was, confirmed everything Harper had ever feared in regards to Batman’s secret identity. Bruce Wayne was just like the rest of them. Just like every other adult in Harper’s life who assumed they knew better than her. Who switched between treating her like an emancipated minor who needed to deal with life like a grown-up or a stupid kid, depending on what was convenient for them at the time. Who wanted points for occasionally helping out before kicking her straight to the curb.

“I hate you.”

The room was silent. Neither Harper or Bruce moved, both unwilling to stand down.

A minute passed, and then Bruce lowered his gaze to the floor and sighed.

When he looked up again it wasn’t the billionaire playboy that stared back at her. His shoulders broadened. His footing became more grounded. His chin lifted, jaw set square.

For a stance that looked like it required more effort than that of a celebrity CEO, Harper could see it for what it was: Someone peeling off an uncomfortable facade. It was as if the very slightest mechanics of his posture were transforming him into a different person before her eyes. 

“Harper... “

The infliction in which Bruce spoke her name was so undeniably Batman that no further confession was needed.

Harper took a swing at Bruce Wayne’s nose.

She missed, of course. He caught her wrist with an infuriating coolness, refusing to even twist her arm or incapacitate her in some other way. She opted to kick him in the shin, but the miracle that had granted her the ability to walk in heels without falling faded too soon, and her ankle rolled as her heel slid out from underneath her. 

Bruce caught her before she could fall, making sure she was level despite her pushing him away with both hands and a strangled “ _Gerrof me_ !” Harper knew there wasn’t a chance she could actually _move_ him, but he deigned to take a step backwards anyways, giving her the space she needed to tear off her shoes and throw them across the room, a string of curse words accompanying two satisfying thuds as they hit the wall.

Bruce was annoyingly unruffled as he watched Harper’s tantrum unfold. It was only when she reached for a random trinket off the closest shelf and raised it over her head that he reacted to her outburst at all. His small cough was enough to get Harper’s attention and she froze, slowly turning her head to offer him a furious glare.

“ _That_ is the key to Gotham City” 

Silence.

“It belonged to my parents. The mayor gave it to them many years ago. It’s an heirloom of significant value.”

Harper considered this for a moment before lowering her hand to eye level. She tilted her head as she rotated the glass case in her palm, eyes following the inscriptions along the wooden base.

“I guess it would be _really_ satisfying to throw, then.”

“I’m asking you not to.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she snapped, setting it down less delicately than she could have.

When Harper turned back to Bruce his arms were crossed and he was wearing an expression she immediately recognized. It was a look worn by her mother after catching Harper skip her second grade class to sneak into her workplace downtown, a look worn by her current employer at her interview years ago when Harper had attempted to convince her that she was eighteen and could work full time. It was the look Bruce Wayne wore at that very moment, eyes boring into hers as if to ask, “ _What am I going to do with you?_ ”

But he asked a different question instead.

“Would you like to sit?”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“That wasn’t my intention.”

Harper swore under her breath before trudging over to the couch she was sitting on prior to Bruce’s arrival. “I’m doing this because my ankle hurts. _Not_ because you asked.”

Harper had initially assumed Bruce’s request for her relocation was made in order to put some distance between the two of them, but was surprised to find that he followed suit, walking to the the armchair closest to her and sitting down. She was tired enough to play nice and hold her hands together, so long as Bruce didn’t test her patience by saying something stupid- 

“You didn’t react this way when you found out about Tim.”

Harper could not restrain the low, monotonous growl that vibrated in the back of her throat.

“Oh yeah?” she snarled, blood threatening to boil. “Maybe that’s because Tim Drake is a _fucking nerd_.”

She waited for Bruce to correct her, but he didn’t.

“And he didn’t punch me. He didn’t punch me through a _wall_ for no fucking reason. And I- _Oh my god_ ,” she whispered as the realization hit her. “I went up to your office with that stupid black eye and I tried to help you.”

“That was appreciated, Harper.”

Harper, stunned by her own stupidity, looked up at him and could see that he meant it. She didn’t care.

“You didn’t deserve it.”

Finally Harper’s words seemed to have an affect on Bruce. It was just a slight twinge of the lip, half a second where his gaze wasn’t quite so steely, but it was something. The sick satisfaction his reaction provided was enough to calm her down enough to consider apologizing, but she immediately decided against it, resting her elbows on her knees, forehead cradled in her hands.

“It could have been anyone. But it just had to be you.”

Harper rubbed the base of her palms over her lids, trying to squish away any tears before they could spill. Years of pretending to be completely emotionally stable while raising her kid brother were being put to the test. As frustrated as she was it wasn’t enough for her cry in front of anyone, _especially_ not Bruce Wayne, who had the tact to remain silent while Harper regained her composure. Another minute passed before he spoke.

“I know you’re upset, Harper. It’s a lot to take in-”

“Could you just _shut up_ ? You’ve said maybe 20 words in the last two minutes and they’ve all been stupid. I’m not upset because the idea of the great Bruce Wayne putting on a cowl and punching bad guys at night is _overwhelming_.”

“Then why?” he asked patiently.

Harper resisted the urge to grab a pillow and scream into it.

“You… You accused me of acting like being a vigilante was a game. Like protecting the people on my own street corner was some sort of joke. _My_ neighborhood. _My_ friends. And you’re a fucking hypocrite, you know? You are. You wanna protect the common man or something? Please. You’ve got a butler on call who can drive you to the hospital whenever you need it. You never needed to convince a billionaire to help support some regular guy who wanted to dress up like a bat and kick ass on the streets because you _are_ that billionaire.

“And what does all of that say about Batman? Batman is... _was_ an idea that anyone could step up their game and help people out. They didn’t have to be rich, didn’t need to start off with any connections, you just had to want to help. But no. Not possible. You _definitely_ have to be rich, you _super_ need connections, and if someone like me walks in with a signal jammer made from a car battery that I whipped up overnight I get kicked out just for showing up! ‘Cause as it turns out, I can’t be Batman. I’m not Batman! You are. You’re Batman.”

“I am.”

Harper looked at him and thought about how much she would have loved to be wrong. How she might be able to convince herself he was taking the fall for someone else, or even pretending so he could get information on any suspicions about Tim’s secret nights out as Red Robin. It would be so easy.

No. Nothing was ever easy in this damn city.

“Is that all you’re gonna say?” she pushed. “I won’t call you stupid again, even though you deserve it. I’ll probably think it, but I won’t say it.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Harper. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“I didn’t want to know. Ever. I never wanted to know who you were.”

“I know.”

She wished he hadn’t responded. She knew that he knew. It only made her feel worse.

“...Why?”

It wasn’t a specific question. Harper had largely asked it because she was at a loss for words, but in some ways she just wanted Bruce to fill in the blanks himself, give her an answer he thought might ease away the hurt. She sat up, more attentive than she had been. Bruce watched her out of the corner of his eye and sighed before speaking.

“Harper… When I was younger, something terrible happened that changed the way I looked at the city I live in. I had to reconceptualize what it meant to feel safe and unafraid. It’s something nearly everyone in Gotham has faced at one point or another, you and your brother included. But I didn’t… cope the way you did. I chased the fear. I wanted to become a part of it. You were brave and overpowered the fear.”

“If you think flattery’s gonna change any-”

“It wasn’t flattery,” Bruce interjected. “Everyone has to reinvent themselves, Harper. In a city that changes as frequently as Gotham does it will happen over and over again. You don’t always know when the city’s going to burn, how it’s going to be rebuilt, when you’re going to have to make hard decisions. When circumstance is done playing it’s role you have to choose the parts of yourself that you keep or throw away in order to survive. Somewhere along the way you chose to be benevolent. You chose to help others. And while I haven’t always agreed with your vigilante work in the past, I can’t discount the decisions you made that led you to becoming Bluebird.”

“But... you want me to _stop_ being Bluebird.”

For the first time since the beginning of their conversation Bruce genuinely looked confused. “Why do you think I would tell you this if I was going to ask you to quit immediately after?”

“I don’t know. ‘Cause you probably knew I’d hate the fact that Batman is a playboy billionaire. Might as well take the shot while the ball’s in your court.”

Bruce’s lip curled in a small half smile, and Harper was too relieved that he wasn’t fighting her accusation to care. She realized that she might have just fed his ego in some small way. He seemed smug with the fact that his disguise was able to fool even those who had worked closely with him in the past.

“I _did_ figure it out in the end,” she added quickly.

“You did,” he hummed in agreement as he rose from his seat. He walked towards the wall that stood across the bookshelves, hands tucked behinds his back, staring at a large portrait framed in ornate gold: A man, a woman, and a young boy that Bruce seemed fixated on, dressed proper in a suit, shades of pink perfectly blended onto cheeks stretching out in a broad grin. 

Bruce was so pensive as he looked up at the portrait that Harper wasn’t sure if she ought to follow him, but she got up and and walked over to him anyways, arms crossed while she waited. 

“I was never under the impression that you didn’t mean well when you started out as a vigilante, Harper,” said Bruce after a minute of silence. “I thought that you genuinely misunderstood how high the stakes were. It was... an error on my behalf.”

Harper turned her head to look up at him, but Bruce maintained his gaze as he continued. “I was ten years old when my parents were murdered. One year younger than you were when your mother died. That kind of loss… It can leave a child empty inside. I wanted so many things to fill up that emptiness. I wanted to be worthy of a legacy that I had inherited much too young. I wanted this city to be protected.

“I was lucky enough to have Alfred, lucky to have a loving caretaker and a world of propriety that I could mold into my vision of this city’s future. But even if I didn’t have all of that at my disposal, if my circumstances were more similar to yours, I don’t think the things I wanted for myself and for Gotham would have changed, regardless of the higher risk. ”

It would seem that there were benefits to Batman’s pedestal being lowered from an indefinable entity to that of an ordinary man. For the first time ever Harper felt that the two of them were on the same level sharing common ground, and his assurance that he wouldn’t stop her from being Bluebird offered so much relief that she almost didn’t notice the sharp pangs in her chest when she was reminded of the death of her own mother.

She missed her. It wasn’t easy to talk about, whenever she tried the words felt dull and unrepresentative of the emotions behind them, but Harper missed every single thing about her mother every single day. She missed her love of music. How she would read stories to her and Cullen at night, even after double shifts at work. She missed the comforting presence of someone who simply took the time to remind Harper that she cared about her and would help her succeed in life.

In a half-hearted attempt to offer a bit of empathy at the funeral Harper’s father had told her that she would feel better with time. She didn’t. Time certainly offered other things to focus on, like how to take care of Cullen when her father abandoned them for days at a time, how to get to school every day and present herself so the teachers wouldn’t notice how hungry and sleepless she was. What time _didn’t_ do was heal. If Harper sat down and thought about it with no distractions the pain of losing her mother felt the exact same way it did when she first laid eyes on her corpse.

Harper imagined a young Bruce Wayne at ten years old, slowly walking around the room she stood in, an empty shell haunted by the ghost of the person he used to be.

She felt a sharp tinge of pain in her nose where Batman had broken it so many months ago.

“Are you alright?”

Harper blinked twice before answering. “Yeah. No. I just… Didn’t think you’d go so into detail. With your parents and stuff, I mean.”  
  
Bruce nodded in understanding. “It’s still difficult to talk about. I struggled immensely with people’s inability to understand the grief I experienced after they died. Years later I would realize it wasn’t that they didn’t understand because the world is filled with unempathetic people, but because the world is filled with kind, heroic people. Every experience of loss is as different and as unique as the person who has passed on."

Bruce abruptly tore his eyes away from the family portrait and walked once more towards the old grandfather clock. He reached hesitantly towards the glass, and Harper had the feeling he was looking at her in the reflection when he addressed her.

  
“It doesn’t get easier. There is... much to lose in this line of work. But, I believe that you potentially have a lot to gain from it as well." 

Harper let the words sink in before responding. “Does this… Does this mean you want to train me?” 

Bruce delicately opened the casing that protected the clock hands. The metal creaked quietly as Bruce adjusted one at a time, and Harper carefully stepped towards him just as he retracted his hand. 

10:48.

The floor began to shake.

Harper spun around just as the bookshelf behind her rumbled, sliding to reveal a vertical passageway where two long poles were fixed side by side, firefighter style. When Harper turned to question Bruce she found that he had swung the clock away from the wall like a door, disclosing a small tunnel. She could see the first few stairs, but whatever laid beyond them was divulged in darkness.

“I can ask Alfred to bring down some food from the banquet, and package some to take home to your brother, if he’d like that. Batgirl keeps extra clothes in the cave. She would let you borrow something, sweatpants, a shirt, if you’d prefer to change into something different. Tim could show you around the cave, and we could take some time to discuss this further. If you’d like.”

Harper slowly made her way to the edge of the passage, toes curled over the first step. Bruce noticed her hesitation.

“I’m not asking you to immediately accept my help Harper, but I want you to know that it’s there.“

Harper’s eyes flitted from Bruce’s to those of his parents painted stoically behind him. It seemed strange for them to be displayed in this room, a juxtaposition between the presence of a terrible tragedy and an ongoing mission to create an era of… Something. Something new. Something different.

Wasn’t that the beautiful thing about Gotham, though? There was hope and strength in places where none should exist.

“You think they would’ve been proud?” she asked, jerking her head towards the painting. “With what you wound up doing?”

Bruce actually smiled. It was a sad smile, but a smile all the same. He answered a different question than the one Harper had asked.

“I think your mother would have been proud of you, Harper.”

Harper sucked in a deep breath. “Wow. Okay. Batman’s a sap, I guess I’m a fucking sap, I think we’ve covered all the ground we can while we’re up here. So, yeah, let’s go to your… Cave? I’ve heard Tim mention it on the com units but I didn’t know if he meant _mancave_ or _batcave_ . And speaking of Tim, you gotta tell him I figured this out by myself. Don’t tell him you took me down here! Just tell him I cracked the case and broke in. Say I did it with the breaker box he promised to show me. _Ha!_ Seriously though, I gotta take his ego down a notch. Or two. Or six. And if you were serious about the food offer I’m gonna need your family secret brownie recipe. If I can keep a secret this big I could probably handle a list of ingredients...”

Harper walked down the steps, her requests reverberating against the passage walls, small echoes from the past guiding her through the darkness into a new, brighter future.

 


End file.
